


Love and Hate Collide

by Aluxra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aluxra/pseuds/Aluxra
Summary: Genji struggles to come to terms with his new body still, and Zenyatta begins the process of helping him heal from his past.





	Love and Hate Collide

Genji settled into a loose lotus pose, rolling his shoulders and resting his wrists on his knees. He closed his eyes, mentally guiding himself through the first steps on meditation. He focused on his breathing as he slowly worked his way through each group of muscles—the ones he had left—and relaxing them. His brow furrowed under his mask as he listened to the metallic rattle of his breaths through the vents, felt the rasp of air through his remodeled trachea and his reconstructed nasal canals, the septal cartilage replaced with a mixture of synthetic material and donated cartilage from the very limited parts of his body that could spare it.

He shook his head, forcing the memories away and focused on the rhythm of his breathing rather than the sound or feel of it as his test-tube grown lungs—essentially clones grown from cells scraped from his old, shredded ones—expanded and contracted with each slow breath.

His hands clenched into fists, the consecutive click of metal joints rattling in his ears with each tight curl of his knuckles.

He couldn’t ignore it.

He couldn’t ignore any of it.

Not in the solemn stillness of the small, sparse bedroom he huddled in, like some truculent child sulking from a scolding, not in the bigger quiet that always seemed to envelop the large monastery high in the Nepal mountains. Shimada castle had not been this quiet or ascetic, the opulence of their wealth and history and culture hanging from every wall and carved on every doorframe. Blackwatch barracks had been loud and crowded, a controlled chaos, like all military divisions.

He had been able to ignore it under Reyes” command. He had focused on whatever mission he had been put on the front lines for. He didn’t need to think about how his body worked or the pieces that held it together. All that mattered was that they did and he succeeded. The agents that gave him aborted looks and whispered about him were the same ones that drowned out the hum of his internal processors, the buzz and whirr and clink of the parts that reminded him what he was and what he wasn’t, with their raucous laughter and yelling and posturing.

Now, in the quiet of the monastery, the smallest of sounds deafened him, the metallic edge to them sending his heart racing in his chest, his fists trembling against his knees. His weight was off center, the angle awkward and merciless on his ankles. They should be numb by now, pins and needles threatening a vengeance the moment he moved, but none would come. He could swear he still felt them, just as he felt the itch in the crook of an elbow that was no longer there, the knot in his spine that was now more carbon-fiber than cartilage and bone. He exhaled a breath through gritted teeth. His synthetic voice box clicked in his throat.

The stone walls swallowed the wordless, snarling scream that burst through his visor, his body unfolding from itself and leaping upright. His fist collided with the wall in front of him, his arm vibrating with the force of it, a spiderweb of cracks fracturing out from the collision point. Dust and grit scattered to the floor when he pulled his arm back, his gaze falling on the dip in the stone wall, loose flakes of stones crumbling to the ground. He looked at his knuckles, the metal scuffed and scratched but otherwise unscathed. Slowly uncurling his hands and flexing the digits, he felt no pain. Had he still been flesh and bone, his hand would be broken.

He snapped his arm back, screaming wordlessly as he slammed his fist against the wall.

And again.

And again.

And again.

More of the wall crumbled with every strike, the stone grumbling as it scattered across the floor, dust and gravelly flecks flying across the room with the force of Genji’s punches, flicking past his face and bouncing off his visor. His pulse roared in his ears, drowned out by the throat-tearing scream that forced all the air from his cloned lungs.

Still he screamed. He screamed till he drowned out the silence, drowned out the emptiness, drowned out the metallic rattling and clinking and clicking and buzzing and whirring and humming, drowned out the memories, drowned out the thrumming vibrations up his arm, the increasing throb of pain radiating from his fist. He screamed as the stone fractured under his fist, his hand clunking loudly as it connected to the wall. The wires screamed signals up through the mish mash of organic and cybernetic of his spine to his brain and he finally pulled back with a pained gasp.

The metal had splintered across all his fingers, the individual joints spasming. The knuckles had caved in under the warped plate that half hung off the back of his hand, exposing sparking wires and damaged circuits. His whole arm pulsed, stimulating the pain receptors in his brain that told him he had injured himself, that he had broken something vital except he hadn’t. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t—

He pulled at the loose metal plate, digging his fingers into the edge to pry it off. It resisted, causing shooting pain up his arm that wasn’t his arm. Snarling in frustration, he kept scratching at his wrist blindly, pulling at the circuits and wires in his arm, digging his fingers into the crux of his elbow, thumping his fist against his shoulder, trying to pry the whole thing off, his eyes burning behind his visor. His arm groaned and something clunked in his shoulder joint that shot a lightning bolt through his whole arm, bursts of white blinding his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, howling in pain as his knees hit the stone floor, bile burning his throat as his stomach threatened to upheave itself.

Curling up on himself, he choked on his breathing, wet with tears as he clawed at the edge of the carbon pectoral plating fused with the rest of his chest. Deep, angry red welts rose up on the skin, blood beading along the long, dragging lines, but nothing budged. The good doctor had done an exceptional job. A frustrated sob rose up his throat, threatening a flood in its wake, when a solid weight fell across his back, warmth enveloping him as golden light filtered through his eyelashes. He tensed, twisting around to come face to face with Zenyatta, eight glowing arms unfolded from his back and wrapping around Genji in a gentle embrace. The metal orbs that circled his neck spiraled out wide, orbiting them both in a wide loop.

With two arms still free, Zenyatta reached up and curled his fingers around Genji’s wrist, guiding his hand away from scratching at his chest.

“Genji,” he greeted calmly. “I must ask that you stop attacking yourself in this manner. Violence is not tolerated within the monastery walls, certainly not against oneself.”

Genji jerked in his hold, but Zenyatta did not relent.

“Genji, please desist,” Zenyatta repeated.

“Fuck you!” Genji snarled, twisting futilely in Zenyatta’s grip. “I hate you! I hate all of you! What do you even want from me? Why did you bring me here?”

“I do not want anything from you, Genji,” Zenyatta replied. “I do not want you to hate me, but I cannot change that if that is how you feel. I also do not want for you to hate yourself, and even in the face of your anger, I love you, and I wish for you to find the peace and balance within yourself that eludes you.”

“I don’t want your pity! I don’t want your love or your wishes for me! You have no idea what I have lost, to become _this._ ”

“No, I don’t,” Zenyatta agreed. “I never met you before you came here, I never knew you before this happened to you. I have never known you to be anything other than what you are now, so I cannot feel loss for your previous life or pity that you can no longer live the life you once had. I understand it hurts you, and I would do what is within in my power to stop that hurt.”

“Why? Why do you even care?”

Zenyatta stared at him silently. Genji could feel the weight of his gaze on the back of his head, and he craned his neck to look over his shoulder to meet Zenyatta’s eyes. The once smooth chrome of his face plate had a history etched into it, scratched and scraped in numerous places, the new-metal shine long lost somewhere down the road of his own life. He swallowed, and looked away, furiously trying to blink the frustrated tears from the corners of his eyes.

“You said you love me,” he answered himself. He didn’t want to know the context of Zenyatta’s love, if it was merely the monk’s belief of love and acceptance for all or something else. If it was the former, he might throw up or break something. If it was the latter, he didn’t know what he would do. “You shouldn’t.”

“Why is that, Genji?”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Love is never a bad idea.”

“Hate is easier.”

“Hate and love are as easy as each other. It is for you to choose which path to take, because when they both collide it can be a terrible thing, especially when it is from within.”

Genji laughed, cold and bitter. “I guess I choose hate, then.”

“Yes, I know,” Zenyatta said sadly. “You hate what you think you have become, and love what you think you were. That you are no longer your old self, the self that you see as who you really are, is causing you great distress and anger. You have changed beyond recognition of him, in body and mind, and you are trying to find him again with no success.”

“It’s a waste of time, I know,” Genji snarled, staring down at himself. “I can never be the man I once was.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Is that _supposed_ to make me feel _better_?” Genji spat.

“How you feel regarding that knowledge is your choice,” Zenyatta replied. “I am simply stating the truth. You cannot return to who you once were ten years ago. You cannot even return to who you were ten minutes ago, who thought he could fight solid stone and win, and are now wiser that you know that is not true.”

Genji snorted, but said nothing, glancing between the wall and his fist before averting his eyes.

“People aren’t static points, unchanging and frozen while the universe continues moving around them,” Zenyatta continued. “You grow, you learn, you change. You cannot stop that, and holding onto the past and who you used to be will bring you nothing but pain. I see it now in you, the discord that runs deep in your mind. It will lead to your destruction, and I do not wish for that to be your destiny if there is another way for you.”

“There is no other way for me,” Genji said, slumping in Zenyatta’s hold. Fresh tears sprung to his eyes, choking him in his throat.

“I don’t believe that,” Zenyatta said quietly. “There is always another way, if you wish to seek it.”

His grip shifted, his eight glowing arms continuing to hold Genji up as he reached out and called one of the golden metal orbs circling them to his hand, pulsing with pale light. It gravitated towards Genji, latching onto him and wrapping him in the same light that created Zenyatta’s arms from head to toe.

Genji’s heart squeezed in his chest, his lungs freezing on a half breath as warmth rippled through his body. It spread through his muscles down to his bones, blanketing his mind in a calm that soothed the jumble in his head until he forgot about the way his breath rattled mechanically through his visor, the click of metal joints and the steady hum of internal processors that help keep him alive, all the buzzing and whirring and clinking, until he sucked in a deep breath—half a gasp, half a cry—and collapsed in Zenyatta’s arms, slumping against him as the tension spilled from his muscles.

“I don’t know h–how to let go,” Genji gasped, curling up over himself, braced against Zenyatta’s chest. Fresh tears pricked at his eyes, his uninjured hand grappling for something to hold onto, seeking an anchor as the floodgates opened. “I don’t know how to move on or leave it behind me. I don’t know how to…I thought destroying the Clan would bring me peace, but it just made everything worse.”

He shook his head, his teeth chattering around the words. Zenyatta tightened his embrace minutely, pulling Genji’s trembling body closer. Genji allowed it, naturally turning towards Zenyatta, speaking against his shoulder as his hand curled around Zenyatta’s arm, clinging to him. “That’s why they brought me back, why I was made like this. I thought it would…I thought it would stop hurting once the Clan was gone, but it didn’t, it still hurts. It was the only reason I was brought back, and now I’ve completed my mission, I have nothing. I can’t go back, I can’t see a way forward.”

“I can help you, if you want it of me.” Zenyatta watched Genji curled up against him, bathed in the golden light of transcendence, an Orb of Harmony calming his mind. “I will accompany you on your journey, for as long as you ask it of me, until you find what you need at the end of the road.”

Genji let out a shuddering breath, his throat clicking as he swallowed. “What will I become?”

“That remains up to you,” Zenyatta replied. “In the end, true self is without form, and the choice is yours to what path you take to find it.”

They sat in silence for a while, Genji allowing himself to be held in Zenyatta’s arms while he stroked his fingers over Genji’s head. His transcendence faded until he was left with only two arms, the set of orbs returning to sit around his neck except for the one hovering above Genji’s head. Genji sniffled, wiping his eyes through the narrow gap of his visor, his gaze flicking between Zenyatta and the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said against Zenyatta’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean what I said, about hating you. I—”

“It is alright, Genji. I forgive you,” he said simply, rubbing his back. He looked at Genji’s injured arm. “We will have to repair your arm, I’m afraid I do not have the knowledge to undo this damage.”

“It’s alright,” Genji replied. “I’m sorry about the wall.”

“The wall is not my biggest concern. It is stone and mortar, it has survived this long, it shall continue to do so.” Zenyatta gently curled his fingers around Genji’s wrist, raising his limp arm from his lap and examining it. “Are you in any pain?”

Genji shook his head. “No, not anymore. I was, but this—” he nodded up at the orb hovering over his head “—I can’t feel any pain with this.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Zenyatta untied one of the sashes around his waist, folding it into a makeshift sling and wrapped Genji’s arm up in it, knotting the fabric at the base of his neck so his arm rested against his chest. “That should take the strain off it until more permanent repairs can be made.”

He paused, his hand going still on Genji’s back. “I do not wish for you to cause yourself more harm, but I understand you prefer your solitude. If you are confident enough that you will not harm yourself again, I will leave you to your meditations and we can continue another time.”

Genji said nothing, averting his eyes.

“Or I could stay?” Zenyatta offered, as the silence stretched.

“Will you?” Genji asked, his body pressing in closer to Zenyatta, as if to stop him from leaving. “Please?”

“Of course.” Genji relaxed in his embrace, as if releasing a breath, tension evaporating from his shoulders as Zenyatta resumed stroking his hand down Genji’s back, the other wrapped protectively around his shoulders as they sat together, the gentle, warm thrum of the Harmony Orb pulsing above them in the peaceful quiet between them.


End file.
